Gone
by awesomest one ever
Summary: One mistake leaves Juliet barely holding on to life. Shawn tries to solve the crime... and figure out why she was targeted. R&R! Possible Tear Jerker, possible Character Death. Shules
1. Chapter 1

**Okay… normally, I'm not a fan of character death, especially when it's my favorite character of a show, but… well, I write stories on a whim, and – as far as I know – there isn't a fic that has this character dying (although Shawn seems to die a lot… hmmm…), so… here's the product of an overactive imagination and too much time on the computer and one small idea. R&R!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. Although… maybe if I had a time machine… hmmm…**

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"Gus, come on! It's not like it cost all that much!"

My best friend spun around and looked me in the eye. "Sure, not separately. But if you put together all of the pineapple smoothies that you have bought with _my _credit card, I might have been able to afford a vacation to Hawaii!"

"Ooooh, good idea!" I said. "We could have Hawaiian pineapple _in Hawaii! _Dude, that's genius! Why didn't we think of that before?"

"I don't know, Shawn. Maybe because you were too busy buying pineapple smoothies every day with _my credit card!"_

"You are overreacting," I said calmly.

He just gave me a look (you know the one) and walked away. He got into the car and started it.

"Oh, come on, you're not going to drive off again, are you? Cause that's just getting old!"

He gave me the same look… and drove away. "Really, dude! Really!" I yelled, even though I knew he couldn't hear me.

I pulled out my phone, and dialed an all-too-familiar number. She picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Whoa, Jules, you picked up on the first ring?" I asked, bewildered. She had caller ID, so I knew she wasn't waiting for information on a case. "Is it a slow day at the office? Getting bored? Want to do anything except sit at your desk doing paperwork?"

"Yeah, pretty much. The most action today was when one of the new officers tripped over their chair," she said, exasperated.

"Man, and here I thought crime was a problem in Santa Barbara. Looks like you're out of a job, Detective," I said. "So, since you're not doing anything, could you come pick me up and take me to the station? I'm sure I would make it more entertaining for everyone, and I have a pineapple smoothie with your name on it."

"What about Gus?"

"He ditched me," I said honestly. "He seems to resent the fact that I used his credit card for your smoothie."

"Really?" she asked. "Most people think of it as an honor."

"Exactly!" I said, thrilled that she was playing along. "Maybe you could tell Gus that?"

"I'll think about it. So, where should I come get you?"

I grinned. Maybe I could convince her to see a movie, maybe go for lunch…

_(At the police department)_

"Do you think Lassie would still be mad at me for hanging around the department if there wasn't a case?" I asked.

"Probably. You know Carlton."

We were silent for a moment. "Can you do me a favor?"

She looked at me, surprised. "Yeah, sure."

"Can you call him Lassie-face?" She burst out laughing. "Just once, I want you to greet him like I do, and just say 'Lassie-face' like I usually do."

"Uh, no. Wait, um… no. Oh, wait," she said, and held up a finger. "Sorry, no. I can't. Police partnership code."

"Oh, yeah. Pesky little code, huh? Really is no use for it. Except for the part where it says: Jules can ignore section 5, line six, which states: do not greet your partner with the name 'Lassie-face'."

"So, do not greet your partner with the name 'Lassie-face' applies to everyone except me then, huh?" she asked.

"Of course."

"But what if their partner's name is Lassie-face? Then what would they call them?"

Okay, now the madness has to stop. "No offense, Jules, but who would name their son 'Lassie-face'? Wouldn't they change their name?"

"Sometimes people have weird names, Shawn. If that weren't true, 'Dick' wouldn't be a common nickname for 'Richard'," she retorted.

I grinned. "True, very true. But then, how do the name-changing businesses keep from going broke?"

"Hey, Shawn!"

We turned to see Officer McNabb walking up to us smiling. "What are you doing here?" he asked me.

"Jules said it was a slow day today, so I decided to save everyone from being bored," I said.

"Actually, it just started heating up."

"It did?" Jules asked. "When?"

"While you were gone. We got an anonymous tip that an escaped convict had it out for our entire department," he informed us. "Detective Lassiter is getting briefed right now in the Chief's office."

Her eyes widened. "Well, come on, Jules," I said, trying to break the tension. "Time for us to get a case."

When we got there, the Chief looked up, saw Juliet, and said, "Good. You're here." Then she saw me standing right behind her. "What are you doing here? I didn't call you."

"I was bringing Jules a smoothie and I heard about the tip. Decided to see if I could help," I replied.

She looked like she was about to argue, but then changed her mind. Instead, she nodded grimly. "Yeah, we need all the help we can get. Let's get to work." She turned to Juliet. "The call came in about ten minutes ago, from a payphone. We're all targets, so we all need to be careful, understood? Good. You three go down to the payphone, and see if you can get anything."

"I have one question," I said, raising my hand.

"What is it, Mr. Spencer?" she sighed.

"Can Jules and I have matching bulletproof vests?"

"Come on, Shawn," Juliet said, pulling me towards the door. But out of the corner of my eye, I _know _I saw her smiling.

"What's the matter, Jules?" I asked, stubbornly refusing to drop the subject. "You don't want matching vests?"

She started to open her mouth to answer. Everything after that happened too fast.

_SCREECH! _A car sped past the police station.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! _Three shots rang out from the car.

_Thud. _Juliet crumpled to the ground, blood coming from her chest, where the bullet had hit her.

_Silence. _Because everything ended when SBPD Junior Detective Juliet O'Hara fell.

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**NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I killed Jules!!!!!!!!!! I think I'll go cry now. Please review!!!!!!!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter two!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!! R&R!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych.**

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_Why? _I couldn't stop asking myself that. Why Juliet? I mean, it was _Jules. _She got freaking Christmas letters from people she sent to prison! Lassie and I had both been there, too. And yet, it was _her _who got hit? It just wasn't fair. There were probably people who hated me. Definitely people who hated Lassie. And yet it was an image of Jules – lying there so still, with blood gushing out of her – that was so deeply ingrained in my painfully perfect memory. It was Jules who was barely holding onto life, and it was her face that the world may never see again.

I was sitting down on a bench outside of the room where Juliet was having surgery, where doctors were desperately trying to save her life. I was waiting – along with Lassie, of course – for the news of how well she was doing, and if she would make it.

_Why? _I thought to myself again.

"I don't know," Lassie said, which made me realize that I had spoken aloud this time.

We were both silent for a moment. "You don't think she'll –" I cut myself off. It was bad luck to say 'die' in a hospital. Or at least I thought it was. I felt it was better not to say it, just in case. "Do you?"

"No," he whispered. "She won't." He said it more firmly this time. "O'Hara is one of the strongest people I know. If anyone could pull through, it would be her."

"Juliet." He looked at me, confused. "You should call her Juliet. She likes calling people by their first name. It makes it less… impersonal."

He nodded. "Right."

We were silent again. "What about you, Spencer? Do you think she'll…" he trailed off, like I did.

"No, you're right," I said. "If anyone could survive something like that, it'd be Juliet."

We heard footsteps and looked down the hallway. Chief Vick was walking towards us, and Gus was about five feet behind her.

"How is she?" she asked us.

"We don't know," Lassie said, his game face on. "They took her into that room for surgery, and no one has come out yet."

The Chief looked at the door and sighed. "I guess we'll just… wait, then."

Gus plopped down next to me. "I heard you were there when… _it _happened." I just nodded. "How're you holding up?"

I opened my mouth to say 'fine', but instead replied, "Not good."

He looked down. "Yeah. I guess you wouldn't be, huh?"

I just shook my head. I didn't want to talk. I wanted one of those _idiotically_ slow doctors to walk outside and tell us Juliet would be in perfect shape after a couple weeks of taking it easy. I wanted to suddenly hear her voice next to me, and realize I had imagined the whole thing – that we were still driving to the police station in her green bug. I wanted to wake up and find out that all of this was just a nightmare. I wanted anything, _anything, _to happen that would ensure that Juliet was perfectly fine.

I was suddenly startled out of my thoughts to hear the Chief's phone ring. She looked down, frowning. "I have to take this." She walked farther down the hallway, too far for me to be able to eavesdrop.

"I hope that someone is telling her they found and shot the bastard," I muttered.

Lassie looked at me and suddenly smiled. "If it's not, we could always shoot the bastard ourselves."

I smiled back wryly. "That's a deal." Of all the times for Lassie and I to bond…

The door opened suddenly and a doctor walked out. Lassie, Gus, and I stood up eagerly. "Well?" we all asked at the same time.

He swallowed. His eyes were dark. I had a feeling that this was bad news. I tried to force down the lump in my throat, but it wouldn't go away. "We operated, and if she wakes up, she should make a full recovery."

I didn't understand. That was good news. So why didn't he look happy to be giving us the news? Then four words caught my attention.

"_If_ she wakes up?" I repeated.

His eyes darkened, and I knew that this was the bad part of the news. "Unfortunately, the chances of her waking are very slim."

Gus let out a strangled cry. Lassie ran a hand through his hair. And me? I suddenly became enraged. I got in the doctor's face and said, "So do what you can to make her wake up," through gritted teeth.

"We've already done everything we can," he insisted.

I shook my head. "No. There's got to be something. There _has _to be some way. It's _Jules. _She can't –" I choked. "There has to be something else."

"Sir, as sad as it is to admit, more often than not, people die from wounds like this. There is simply no way to –"

I shoved him against the wall. "Don't give me that!" I yelled. There was no way I was hearing this. There was no way I was hearing this _idiot _tell me that he couldn't save _Jules._

"Mr. Spencer," I heard the Chief say. I turned towards her, letting go of the doctor. He moved away from me.

She held up her phone. "That was McNabb. He said they got another phone call. Same person. Still anonymous."

"What did they say?" Lassie asked.

"They said that they had lied earlier. They weren't after the entire department. They were after Detective O'Hara specifically."

Silence. "Why?" I managed to choke out.

"That," she replied, "is what you, Detective Lassiter, Mr. Guster, and the entire SBPD are going to figure out." She handed me a file. "This is O'Hara's personnel file. I want you three to look through it and see if you can find anything that would make her a target."

I already knew two things. One, that this case would be a very hard one to figure out. Jules was simply too nice to be a target. And two, that I was definitely taking Lassie's offer to shoot the guy who did this very, _very, _seriously.

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**Well????? What'd you think????? JULES ISN'T DEAD YET!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope that makes things a little better. In fact, you can all participate in a "SAVE JULES" Campaign!!!!!!!!!!! All you have to do is review and say "I WANT TO SAVE JULES!" It doesn't have to be in capital letters, though. If I think I have enough reviews to save Jules, then she won't die (fireworks start booming and happy music plays)!!!!!!!! So REVIEW and SAVE JULES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter three!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!! R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych.**

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I was sitting in the chair next to her bed. Under normal circumstances, I would have been laughing, saying that it was too cliché for me to handle, and nurses would be telling me to be quiet. Under normal circumstances, Gus would tell me I was being insensitive, Lassie would be threatening to arrest me, my dad would be at home or fishing, and Chief Vick would be at her desk.

Under normal circumstances, Juliet would be standing next to me, shaking her head and laughing at me. The very fact that she was the one in the bed instead of where she was supposed to be made this situation too abnormal for me to even notice how cliché this was. But then again, that could also be because I had brought her a pineapple and put it next to her bed. I don't really know why I did it at first. The nurse probably wouldn't even let her eat it for a while. But I guess it was just so she would know I had been here, that I was worried, that I wanted more than anything just for her to wake up. That she could be shaking her head and laughing at some stupid joke I had just made.

That her personnel file wasn't sitting in my lap, practically taunting me while I refused to open it.

I hadn't opened it yet. I wasn't sure I wanted to. Under normal circumstances, I would have opened it in a flash, eager to know more about my precious Juliet.

But as I said before, these were far from normal circumstances. And opening this file would mean that this was an actual case – which meant that Jules was an actual victim. Opening the file would mean that this wasn't just some elaborate, complex, terrifyingly realistic nightmare that I would wake up from soon. And – even more than I wanted her to wake up – I wanted this to be a dream. If she was the one who needed to wake up, she would have some serious injuries and be off duty for a while. It would take awhile for her to recover. If I was the one who needed to wake up, then in a few hours I would see her perfectly healthy and perfectly happy.

"What do you think, Jules?" I found myself saying. "Should I open it? What should I do?"

Silence. That was all I was greeted with. It disturbed me. I always got an answer from Juliet, even at three o'clock in the morning. No matter what.

"If you're expecting an answer, then you'll probably have to ask her psychically," a gruff voice said.

I spun around to see Lassie standing a few feet away. "Oh. Hey, Lassie." It was all I could manage. No comeback. No 'aha! You just said I should contact her psychically! You do believe!' or some other crap like that. Nothing. I was still giving Jules the time to answer me, like she always did. I refused to believe there was any reason she wouldn't. It would make everything too real for me.

"You brought her a pineapple?" he asked skeptically. It sounded like the old Lassie, except that it came out forced. He was just trying to bring life back to the way it was supposed to be. He couldn't care less about the pineapple.

"Of course I did, Lassie. It's pineapple. Who doesn't want to wake up to pineapple?" My reply came out forced, too. We couldn't do normal right now. Especially because a big part of normal was lying in a hospital bed, completely unresponsive.

We were silent for a few moments. I couldn't look away from Juliet. She looked so peaceful…

"Are you going to open it?" he asked.

I was confused for a moment, but then I realized he meant her personnel file. "I don't know. If I don't, we might never find out why Juliet was shot. But… if I do… there's no turning back if I do, Lassie. If I open this, then there is a zero percent chance I'll wake up and it's a nightmare, you know? I can't… I can't do that, Lassie. I can't admit that this is real, that Jules is –" I broke off. I couldn't talk. There was too big of a lump in my throat.

"Spencer… if this was just a dream, don't you think you would have woken up by now?"

His words hit me like a bulldozer. He was right. If it was a dream, I should have woken up right when Juliet got hit. Because there is no way someone goes through this much in a dream.

Which meant she was really shot. Which also meant that she might really… die.

I just nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

My hands started shaking as I opened the file. The words started swimming off the page, until I forced myself to focus. I had to find her mur – attacker.

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Name: Juliet Anne O'Hara

DOB: October 5th, 1980

Birth Place: Miami, FL, USA

Description: Sandy blonde hair

Blue eyes

5'6"

Female

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Next to the description was a picture. It was probably one taken after she transferred. That was all that was on the first page. It was the easiest page to read, because I knew all of it already. And yet… the description seemed… off. It was missing a lot, like the way her hair looked like the sun if the light caught it just right, or the way her smile could light up an entire room, or the way her blue eyes resembled the ocean in so many ways. I always pictured her like that in my mind. My description of her was more like: beautiful, 5'6", has intoxicating gold hair in a certain light, and blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean on a particularly sunny day. Yeah, that sounded more like Juliet. I'd have to talk to whoever made this stupid description.

I briefly scanned through the rest of the pages, knowing I could remember it on command if I needed to. But three words caught my eye, and I knew I couldn't resist reading it, no matter what: "Reason for Transfer".

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REASON FOR TRANSFER: Had a personal relationship with coworker. The coworker ended it by giving her an invitation to his wedding. Chief Robertson of Miami PD decided it would be best if one of them left, and Detective O'Hara volunteered.

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Well, then. Looks like I have two people to shoot. I wonder if Lassie will help me out with this one, too…

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**Well???????????? Did you like it?????????????? PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's chapter four!!!!!!!!!!! R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych.**

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I hate doctors.

They act like just because they went to medical school and got some fancy degree they can boss you around. Let's say (hypothetically) that someone got shot in the chest and is barely hanging on for life. Personally, I think that someone who is practically family to said theoretical person should be allowed to be in the room after visiting hours – or at least in the waiting room. There is no reason that a doctor should call security on the hypothetical friend who is practically family to the hypothetical patient. Even if the hypothetical friend is throwing a tantrum because the nurse threw away his gift of pineapple. In this completely hypothetical situation, the doctors are complete idiots, and the friend is completely right. Hypothetically speaking, of course. So doctors – and this is not theoretical or hypothetical – can be considered idiots if they ever did this. Especially if the hypothetical friend doesn't have a ride home from the hospital because their hypothetical best friend forgot to turn on his phone. In theory.

"You really need to grow up, Shawn. Throwing a tantrum because a nurse threw away a pineapple is just ridiculous. I thought I taught you better than that," my dad said, because that's who I had to call when Gus didn't answer his phone.

"It was a get well gift!" I exclaimed. "Who throws away a get well gift, especially when it's a perfectly good uneaten 100% Hawaiian pineapple?!"

My dad just sighed and shook his head.

"They still shouldn't have thrown me out for a little tantrum," I insisted.

"I wouldn't call screaming and handcuffing yourself to Detective O'Hara's hospital bed a small tantrum, Shawn. Even for you."

"They still shouldn't have kicked me out. I need to be there when she wakes up," I argued. I don't know why I bothered. I could have the most logical argument in the world and he would still refuse to believe that I'm right and he's wrong. Well… okay, maybe that's exaggerating things a little. But just a little!

"Why, Shawn? Why do you need to be there when she wakes up?" he argued, obviously thinking I wouldn't be able to answer that question. Oh, how little he knows.

"Because it's Jules, dad. She's like family to me. Wouldn't you want to be there when I woke up and I had gotten shot after the doctor told you that either I wake up or die?" I retorted.

He fell silent. Looks like I could win over the old man after all. "Maybe you could have been there if you didn't throw a tantrum over a pineapple." Okay, maybe I didn't win over the old man. But what does he know? I mean, come on! It's PINEAPPLE! Who throws out pineapple?!

"Oh, yes, because it's not stressful to hear that one of your best friends might die," I said sarcastically, and rolled my eyes.

"It was a pineapple, Shawn!"

"Exactly!" How could he not see how important the pineapple was? If I couldn't be there when she woke up, then she should at least know that I was there at some point, right? And what better way is there to say 'Shawn Spencer was here' than leaving a pineapple? Well, if the person knew me, of course. Which is a lot of people, so I stand by my original statement.

"Maybe, instead of sitting next to the hospital bed and throwing tantrums, you should be doing what Karen told you to do and finding the SOB that put Detective O'Hara there in the first place."

"Juliet," I corrected. "At least call her Juliet. It's the least you could do."

"Fine," he relented. "Juliet, then."

My phone started ringing. "It's Lassie." I answered it. "Lassie-face! What's up?"

"We found the guy that called in the tips earlier," he said. "Just thought you might want to know."

"I'll be right down there." My dad looked at me quizzically. "They found the guy who was calling in the tips. Can you drop me off at the department?"

"What do you think I am, your chauffeur?" he asked, but he started driving in that direction anyway.

_(At the police station)_

"Where is he?" I asked Buzz, as soon as I walked in the door. He pointed towards Lassie's desk. I didn't see anyone over there (except for Lassie, of course). I guess that's who he thought I meant. Oh, well. Might as well cut him some slack. "Thanks, man."

I walked straight over to Lassie's desk. "What's going on? Where's the guy?"

"Holding cell," he said gruffly. He looked busy with something. "His name is Marco Servollo. He said he was hired to call in the tips by a Felipe Ramirez."

The name sounded familiar… then I remembered. "Felipe Ramirez? You're sure?"

He looked up at me for the first time since I'd walked over here. "Yeah… Why?"

"That's one of the suspects on the last case Jules worked back in Miami PD."

He jumped up. "Well, then. Let's see if the Chief will let me go to Miami."

"We're going to Miami?"

"No, I'm going to Miami. Traveling to work with other police departments is for real detectives, not… whatever it is you are," he said. Finally! I didn't like the nice Lassie.

"I'm a psychic, Lassie, you know that."

"And I'm the Queen of England."

I opened my mouth to comment on that, but then we reached the Chief's office. I had to be on my best behavior to go to Miami. There was no way I was letting Lassie go and not me. No way.

"Yes, detective?" she asked Lassie.

"Spencer got a vision pertaining to that Felipe Ramirez that Servollo was talking about. He was a suspect on the last case O'Hara worked on while in Miami. I think that I should be allowed to go to Miami to keep the investigation going," he reported.

"And Gus and I want to go to!" I added. Lassie glared at me.

The Chief looked down at her desk and sighed. "All right, all three of you will go. I'll make sure you fly out tomorrow. You better go pack. Mr. Spencer, make sure Mr. Guster knows that he's going to Miami."

YES!!!!!!!!! I'm going to Miami!

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**Well???????????? What'd you think??????????? REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the next chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!!! R&R!!!!!!!!!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych.**

* * *

"Lassie?"

"What, Spencer?" he growled.

"Do you think Miami is as warm as Santa Barbara?"

He groaned. "Yes, Spencer, I think the weather there is about the same."

"Okay." I waited for about ten seconds before saying this for the tenth time on our flight: "Lassie?"

"What is it now, Spencer?!" he yelled. The flight attendant glared at him, and I stifled a laugh.

"Nothing. I just wanted to see the flight attendant glare at you like that. Again."

He groaned again. Gus was sitting at the window seat, Lassie in the aisle seat, and I was in the middle. Gus had fallen asleep, so I decided to pass the time by making small, meaningless conversations with Lassie. It was actually a lot more fun than I had originally thought it would be.

"Spencer, why do you insist on making my entire life miserable?" he asked.

"Now, Lassie, don't you think you're being a little overdramatic? I haven't known you your entire life! How could I have made you miserable before I knew you?"

"Before you knew me," he replied wistfully, "oh, those were the days."

I laughed good-naturedly. I didn't take the comment to heart. I knew that Lassie loved me, whether he wanted to admit it or not. "Lassie?"

"Yes, Spencer?"

"Do you think Chief Robertson is a better chief than Chief Vick?" I knew _my_ answer to that one, but Lassie's might differ. He wasn't as big a fan of her as I was.

"Chief Vick," he said immediately, much to my surprise.

"Why?"

"Chief Robertson was stupid enough to let O'Hara transfer."

"Yeah, that's true," I relented. Jules was one topic we could agree on. "Anyone who lets Jules go has to be pretty bad at their job."

We were silent again. "Lassie?"

"What, now?" he sighed.

"Did I forget to tell you why she transferred?"

"It said in the file?" he asked, which answered my question.

"She was dating some guy, but he got engaged behind her back. He broke up with her and handed her a wedding invitation. And she worked with him, too," I reported. "When we're done with this case, would you arrest me for shooting him?"

A look of amusement crossed his face. "Arrest you? How could I do that? You'd have an alibi – you'd be with me the entire time, Spencer."

I grinned. "Thanks, man."

We were silent yet again. What was with all of these SILENCES?!?! "Lassie?"

"What?"

"Can you believe that the hospital staff threw away a perfectly good pineapple?"

He groaned. "What I can't believe is that you won't let that go. Why can't you just get her a new pineapple?"

"Because I'll be in Miami! I can't get her a pineapple now! And of course I won't let it go, it was a PINEAPPLE!"

The flight attendant glared at me this time. I gave her the most charming smile I could muster, but my heart wasn't in it. I was still thinking about that pineapple. It was probably still sitting in that trash can, mold starting to form in the center.

_(Flashback)_

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_Thud._

_Jules, lying on the ground, struggling to breathe. Blood spilling out of her chest. Red everywhere I looked. Blood red._

"_Jules! Are you okay?"_

"_I think… we should've… gotten… those matching… vests… after all… Shawn," she managed to say, before she closed her eyes._

"_Jules? JULES! Wake up!"_

_(End flashback)_

"Spencer!" Lassie said sharply.

"What?" I asked. I noticed that I was shaking. Based on the look on Lassie's face he had noticed, too. He had probably been trying to get my attention for awhile now. He opened his mouth to ask me what was wrong, but I didn't let him. I _couldn't _let him. I had to forget that as soon as possible.

"Do you think her partner was nice to her?" I asked suddenly. He looked confused. "In Miami."

"Probably. If not, then that's another person who we'll… suddenly hear about disappearing. Out of nowhere," he said cautiously.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Probably."

More silence.

Like when… it… happened. Jules was all that mattered. Everything else had been frozen. So much blood…

I forced the memories to the back of my mind. I didn't need to go through a breakdown on a plane. That was the last thing I needed. What I needed was to find Juliet's kill – attacker. Her attacker. I needed to find him so I could… suddenly hear that he had disappeared, using Lassie's words.

"Lassie?"

"Spencer, what is it now?" he growled.

"Do they have a lot of pineapple in Miami?"

"I don't know, Spencer, and I don't really care!" he said angrily. I was started to annoy him, like I always did. Normal…

Except that Jules wasn't here. And no matter what, Jules was always working with Lassie. She always said they'd have to kill her to keep her away.

_NO! _I yelled at myself. I will not think like that. I will not… I refuse to!

"Lassie?"

"If I don't answer, will it make much difference whether or not you ask whatever the hell it is you want to ask?" he asked flatly.

"Probably not," I admitted.

"Then, what, Spencer?"

"When we're in Miami, do we follow Santa Barbara time or Miami time?"

"What do you think?" he asked, not believing I could even ask that.

"I think that if we went by Santa Barbara time, we would get to leave work earlier, and party for the rest of the night. But then we'd have to go to sleep earlier, wake up earlier, and get to work earlier. But it's also so much harder to get used to a new time zone, so –"

"Spencer," Lassie warned.

"Miami it is."

Even more silence. I looked at one of the magazines in front of me. It was promoting some action movie that had a lot of blood and gore in it. Blood was everywhere, originating from her chest, where her heart was…

"Lassie?" I could hear a slight tremor in my voice, but he didn't.

"Oh, sweet justice, Spencer, will you just shut the hell up!" he yelled suddenly.

"No, I can't," I said immediately. I couldn't stop talking, because then I'd have to think. And all I could think about was Juliet bleeding to death in front of me, and how I was unable to do a thing to help her.

"Why? You love hearing the sound of your own voice that much? I have more important things to do than answer your stupid questions, Spencer! So why won't you just stop talking!"

"Because if I don't distract myself, all I'll see is her," I found myself saying. I had planned on making up something, but I guess the truth really wanted to come out, whether I wanted it to or not. "I'll see her lying there, bleeding… all that blood…" My voice cracked at the end of that sentence. Still silence. I was still looking at the magazine. Blood and gore… blood flowing… so much blood…

"I think there are a lot of pineapples in Miami," Lassie suddenly said. "But they're probably not as good. Too far away from Hawaii. No way they're authentic. As far as I know. I haven't been to Miami before."

I looked at him. I managed a shaky smile. "Neither have I. I was still mad at my dad back when I was travelling, and I had heard he was living there."

The rest of the plane ride was filled with small, meaningless conversations and zero outbursts of anger (well, okay, I managed to get a few out of Lassie).

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

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* * *

"What do you _mean _our reservations are scheduled for tomorrow?!" Lassie yelled at the poor hotel manager, who by now was shaking like a leaf. Which reminds me, how did that even get started? When did leaves shake? I mean sure, when the wind blew, but that's not really shaking, is it? More like being moved violently back and forth because the branches happen to be affected by the wind. But leaves don't really shake, so where did that saying come from?

"I mean exactly what I say, sir," the manager whimpered, obviously afraid that he would get shot by the enraged Head Detective. "The reservations were made for tomorrow until Sunday, for a total of three days. If you were to stay here any longer, the SBPD was willing to pay for it. That's what it says, see?" He showed him the paperwork.

Lassie read it over, and then threw it down in disgust. "Well, then, what are we supposed to do until then?" he asked him.

"I don't know," the manager admitted. "I sincerely hope you come up with something, but I must talk to the other customers." He really didn't want to talk to Lassie. Probably because he had seen Lassie keep reaching towards his gun. He never actually touched his gun, but his hand had started moving towards it almost subconsciously.

We sat out in the lobby. "Wonderful. Now what do we do?" Gus asked.

"Go to the police department? We could go start working on the case," I suggested.

Lassie nodded. "Yeah, we probably should."

We hailed a taxi and told them to get us to the police department, completely unaware of the reception we were going to receive.

* * *

"Well? Who should we talk to?" I asked Lassie.

"That should be the chief's office," he said, pointing to a door that said "Chief Robertson" on it.

"Great detective work, Lassie," I said sarcastically. "I'm sure that there are some three year olds who can't read yet that wouldn't have figured that out. You really are an invaluable cop. I meant, who do you think will be the most cooperative with our investigating?"

He glared at me. "Probably Chief Robertson. He was the one who agreed that we should come down here, remember?"

"Yeah, you're right." I walked towards it, and then Lassie cut in front of me. Always insisting to stand in the front…

Gus walked next to me. "What do you think they'll think about you psychic abilities?"

"I think they'll hoist me on their shoulders and call me Chief Shawn of the Miami tribe," I said immediately. "You?"

"I think that if you don't start taking this seriously, they'll make you the new favorite target on the shooting range," he retorted. "Get it together, Shawn. These guys don't look very friendly."

I looked around. He was definitely right. They were all glaring at me. Not even Gus or Lassie, just me. What was that all about?

"Hello, Chief Robertson," Lassie said, taking Gus and me back into the real world instantaneously. "I'm Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the SBPD and these are my associates, Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster. They are consultants of our department. Chief Vick told you that we were coming, correct?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he said. He was a pudgy man, with white hair and piercing, dark eyes that were almost black. He, too, glared at just me and didn't even look at Gus or Lassie. What is with the Miami PD? Do they have something against psychics or what? "I remember you well. You're here to figure out what happened to Detective O'Hara?"

"Yes, sir," Lassie answered. "We were hoping we could question some of the officers about a particular case O'Hara was working on before she transferred to our department."

"Yes, of course. Her old partner, Detective Harrington, should be able to answer all of your questions." Harrington? What kind of name was Harrington? I thought this was Miami, where they had surfer names or something like that. But Harrington? No wonder Jules never told me about him. She probably knew that I would never be able to take him seriously with a name like that. Harrington? Seriously?

Some tall dude walked in the door. He was shorter than Lassie, but not by much. He had graying blonde hair and eyes the color of evergreen trees. He was actually in pretty good shape for a guy who was in his late forties. I assumed that this was Detective – oh, screw it; I'll never be able to say his name with a straight face. I assumed that this was Juliet's old partner.

"This way," he said. I was surprised not to hear some weird accent. I mean seriously, Harrington? Really?

We all started to follow him out, but then he pointed at me. "Not you. You're going with Detective Johnson. He needs to ask you a few questions. Not very many people are trusted by the Miami PD."

"What about Lassie and Gus?" I retorted. "Are they going to be questioned?"

"No. SBPD Head Detective Lassiter is a cop, and Mr. Guster is an assistant," he explained dryly. I really did not like this guy's tone. "Much easier to trust than a so-called psychic."

"So-called?" I complained.

"Assistant?" That was from Gus.

Some man roughly grabbed my arm. I turned towards him. He had shaggy brown hair and dark blue eyes. According to what my dad said once, the color was the same as the ocean in the middle of a thunderstorm. He was tanned, just like every other person in the Miami PD. No, seriously. Every single one of them was tan. Did they all have a beach party or something?

His nametag said 'Johnson' on it, so I thought it was safe to assume that this was the Detective Johnson that… Juliet's old partner had mentioned. He dragged me to an interrogation room.

"Great, now an interrogation room? What, am I a criminal now or something?" I asked.

"I don't know," Johnson said. "Are you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You know what, I really don't like how Miami treats visitors. You could've at least given me a pineapple. Or a pineapple smoothie. Something like that."

"Mr. Spencer, what this department is thinking is that you're not really psychic," he said. As he did so, he put his hands on the table. He was married. Then again, ten other cops were, too, so he may not be the reason for Juliet's transfer. "We're thinking, that our pretty little Detective O'Hara found out that you're scamming the Santa Barbara department, and you hired that guy to shoot her, and are now leading everyone down the wrong trail. What do you think?"

No. Way. They thought that I had hurt Juliet. It was… inconceivable. How could I hurt Jules? It just… couldn't even comprehend the idea. Why would I hurt her? It was Jules. There was no reason to hurt her, no matter what! Wait, what had he said? 'Pretty little Detective O'Hara'? Huh. Well, that sure is interesting.

"I think you have more motive than I do, Detective," I growled. "What am I sensing? I'm getting, I'm getting… testing… peeking… cheeky… cheating! You, sir, were cheating. And Detective O'Hara knew that better than anyone." I stood up. I wanted to be as intimidating as possible. "Why? Well, because you had been sleeping with her and using her for months before you handed her your wedding invitation. And, well, planning a date and time for a wedding, that takes some time, Detective," I sneered. "Which means you had been engaged for a while before that happened." His face was red by now. "If you ask me, that is pretty good motive. What do you think?"

Lassie suddenly barged into the door. "You son of a bitch!" he yelled. He punched him in the face. Well, then. Let the games begin.

* * *

"Now what?" Gus asked. We were standing outside of the police station. They had let Lassie go without a fuss – seeing as he was a cop and had been defending his partner's honor – but had said we shouldn't come back until tomorrow. And the hotel was still sticking to the screwed up reservation.

"Know anyone in Miami?" Lassie asked. At that moment, I realized I did.

I whipped out my phone. "Oh, thank god," I heard Lassie mutter, but I didn't really listen. I hadn't talked to this person in a while, to be honest. And the end hadn't been so pretty. But… well, I was out of options. I dialed the number I had memorized such a long time ago.

"Hello?" a voice asked, when the person finally answered.

"Hey, Abs," I greeted. "I need a favor."

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

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* * *

"Lassie, I don't care if you're bleeding in a ditch when the Chief calls, you will answer," I argued. "There is no way I am going to miss that call!"

"What if the Miami PD kills you first?" Gus asked. "Or Abigail if you mess up her house?"

"Then I will come back as a pineapple and sit next to her bed," I insisted. "It's a win-win, Gus! As long as Lassie answers his phone."

"You can't magically become a pineapple when you die, Shawn."

"Sure I can! It's called karma, Gus. Don't be ridiculous." What, did he think I was an idiot or something?

"No, it's not! It's called reincarnation! Karma is just a shorter way of saying what goes around, comes around, Shawn!" he yelled. Apparently, he did think so.

"I've heard it both ways," I stated simply. Which was true. Although the kid was three and couldn't pronounce an 'r' very well, so it sounded more like 'kaw-mah'.

"No you haven't, Shawn," Gus said.

"Yes, I have."

"No you haven't!" he argued. Why did he keep arguing with me? He knew I was right. "And even if you could magically appear as a pineapple next to Juliet's hospital bed, the nurse would probably throw you out."

Oh, that was cold. Why did everyone keep slamming pineapples? I mean, seriously? It's… it's _pineapple!_ "That reminds me," I started. "How the hell can anyone in their right mind throw out a perfectly good pineapple! I mean, who doesn't want to see a pineapple when they wake up? What is the point?"

Gus and Lassie groaned. They had both heard this rant many times.

"Will you please just _shut up _about that, Spencer?" Lassie pleaded.

"No, I won't! That is blatant disregard for the awesomeness that is pineapple! You can't disregard pineapple! You just… can't! Ever!" I yelled.

At that, my phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hey, Shawn," Abigail said. "Sorry I haven't gotten there yet, it took me longer than I thought to wrap up work." She had started working at Miami after she got back from Uganda three months ago. She had broken up with me, saying something among the lines of 'you like someone else, even though you don't know it'. What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could I possibly not know if I liked someone else?

I mean, sure, Jules and I were pretty close, and I could see how someone might mistake that as more than friendship, but… it was _Jules._

_You're right, _a little voice that sounded suspiciously like my father said. _It is Jules. Why is it so hard to believe that you like her as more than a friend?_

_Because it's… it's Jules. I just can't. How can I like her like that?_

_How can you not?_

I suddenly found that I couldn't answer that. And I could answer the question before that perfectly; there were plenty of reasons I could like Jules as more than a friend. And I couldn't think of a single reason why I couldn't.

_Who is this?_

_Shawn._

_Spencer._

_Great! You were already thinking about me._

Lassie suggested eating at a diner we'd passed a few minutes ago.

_So, what's up?_

_I don't have time to talk._

_But you haven't heard what I'm going to say._

_See, now we've already talked more than I wanted to._

Her smile. Her laugh. That was all I could think about now. All I ever wanted to see. I could die a happy man if I could just see that one more time.

_Look at us. A couple of kids on a proper date, huh? You got some goosebumps?_

_Shawn, this isn't a date. It's work._

_You're absolutely right, but hey, you've still got six minutes to ask me anything you want. So, what do you want to know? What are you dying to know about Shawn Spencer, the man?_

I wanted her. I _needed _her. It had taken me forever to see it, but it had been there all along. And it wouldn't be easy to get her to like me as more than a friend, but everyone says that the good things don't come easily, right?

_What I'm saying is that I think maybe the best things, the richest things, aren't supposed to come easily. And that sometimes the moments that make the most sense happen when everything else doesn't. And, well, I think you deserve more than popcorn tonight. So why don't you let me take you to dinner?_

_Detective O'Hara, are you asking me out on a date?_

_I am. A proper one._

My dad often said that I made a lot of mistakes. He and Gus both agreed on that. But opening up Psych was definitely not a mistake, despite what my dad tells me. Not only because I get to use my skills to help people – in a way that doesn't involve being a cop – but it led me to Jules. And that is one thing that is never a mistake.

_Shawn, what are you doing?_

_Nothing._

_Really? Cause if you're doing what it looks like you're doing, it's going to be one of those things we just talked about._

_What's that?_

_A mistake._

Her voice. I missed the comforting sound of her voice and the calming blue of her eyes.

_I agree, but that's clearly not what we're doing._

_Okay, really? What do you say we're doing?_

_I call it… very close talking._

I guess I had always missed every single little thing about her, ever since she got shot. Ever since I had met her, she had steadily become a greater constant in my life. And ever since some moment god only knows how long ago, she had been the one thing that could cloud my mind so completely – and she's the only girl I wouldn't be afraid of committing to.

_Before I go, I have to say one more thing._

_Of course, Shawn, what is it?_

_I need you to know that… I love you._

"I love you, Jules," I whispered softly. Neither Lassie nor Gus heard me, and I was glad. I didn't need them thinking I was crazy. Besides, Lassie might end up killing me if he found out.

Then Abigail pulled up in her car. "Hey, Shawn!" she greeted happily. "Hey, Gus! Detective Lassiter!"

"Hi, Abs," I said, smiling. I had finally seen what she had always known. And I think, now that it's settled, maybe Abigail and I can get back to just being friends – like I think we were always meant to be.

_Maybe this is what… closure feels like?_

Yeah. I think everything would definitely be pretty much perfect.

If only Jules would wake up already…

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

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* * *

"I'm sorry about Juliet," Abigail said.

I nodded. I still wasn't comfortable talking about her with Abigail – especially considering my previous revelation. But then, she had already known about that, hadn't she? Which brought me to another interesting question…

"How did you know?"

She looked up. "How did I know what?"

"About… how I felt. About… you know."

Understanding crossed her eyes, along with something else… sadness? And then I realized something else. Two things, actually. Abigail stilled loved me. But I just couldn't reciprocate those feelings anymore. I guess Jules had just changed too many things. I still hoped that Abigail and I could be friends, but it would be harder than I realized.

"Just… something about the way you act around her," she answered. "It was pretty obvious actually. Well, to anyone who cared enough to look anyway."

I just nodded again.

She looked uncomfortable, but she asked me another question. "Do you know how she is? I mean… will she make it?"

"If she wakes up," I replied. "But they don't think that's likely."

The full weight of that suddenly hit me. She may never wake up. She may never smile again, or laugh, or talk, and she'll never see me again. And I wouldn't see her again. Well, I'd see the empty husk of her body, but I wouldn't see _her. _I wouldn't see Jules, ever again.

I suddenly found that I couldn't breathe, and I was shaking again. Like I had on the plane. And, much like on the plane, I could still see the blood that was coming from Jules's chest after those bastards had shot her.

"Shawn…" Abigail said. "I am so sorry."

I just looked at her. Jules… the theater…

_Get out there. She's not going to wait forever._

Abigail wasn't the only one who'd gotten away. Jules had, too. And she was right – Abigail hadn't been about to wait forever. She didn't have to.

But Juliet probably wasn't willing to wait around forever, either. And unlike with Abigail, she _did _have to wait for _so long._ And I might have been too late. I might never get to tell her…

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry, too. For whatever pain I might or might not have caused you."

She smiled wryly. "Yeah, well… I kind of expected to experience some sort of pain as soon as I agreed to go out with you. You're a psychic detective – I never knew if the next phone call would be someone telling me you'd gotten shot."

"Like with Rollins?"

She hesitated before answering. That particular case had been an emotional one for everyone – even Lassie, whose pride had been hurt when he couldn't catch up to my father. "Yeah. Like that."

We were silent. I briefly wondered if Gus and Lassie would wake up soon, but I doubted it. They were out like a light. You know, I never did get that saying. What was that supposed to mean? Out like a light? Seriously? I mean, when a light is out, it's not really a light anymore, is it? I mean, it's just so ridiculous, even for me. Which reminds me… Harrington? Really? What is with that? I mean… what kind of name is Harrington?

"Shawn?" Abigail asked.

"What?"

"You have that look on your face," she said. "The one where you really can't understand something no matter how hard you try." She gave me a suspicious look. "Is this about that nurse who threw away your pineapple?"

"No, although I really don't get that either," I answered. "I mean, who throws out pineapple?! But, I was actually thinking about Juliet's partner."

"What about him? Is he, like, suspicious or something? Do you think he might have hurt her?"

"No, I doubt it. I just can't get his name. I mean, seriously, Harrington? Really?"

"Harrington?" she asked, the distaste obvious in her tone. "His name is Harrington?"

"Exactly!" I cried out. "See, I _knew _I couldn't be the only one who thought that it was weird!"

Suddenly, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID, but it was a number my phone didn't recognize. I considered not answering, but it was a Miami area code. It could be someone calling with a lead on the case. "Hello?"

"Mr. Spencer. It's Agent Harrington." I stifled a laugh. "We may have something. Bring Agent Lassiter and Mr. Guster _immediately." _Uh-oh. That was a serious – and possibly horrible – tone.

"We'll be there as soon as we can."

I hung up. "GUS!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I heard a loud crashing sound as someone fell out of their bed. I heard a very angry "SHAWN!" coming from my best friend. One down, one to go.

"LASSIE!" I yelled again.

"What?!" he yelled, pulling out his gun and looking around.

"The Miami PD called. They may have something."

He just looked at me blankly, and then put his weapon back in its holster. "Oh." I guess he'd thought he'd needed to shoot someone.

We started to leave, but then my phone rang again. This time, the caller ID said that it was the Chief.

"Whoa, hold up!" I exclaimed. "It's Chief Vick!" I answered. "Chief? How's Jules? Did she wake up? Why are you calling? What's going on?"

"Slow down, Mr. Spencer," the Chief said. "No, she didn't wake up. Actually… it might be harder for her to, now."

The tone in her voice made my heart stop. "Why? What happened? Is she…" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Someone came in. He was sent by Ramirez, too. He… he tried to suffocate Detective O'Hara."

I couldn't listen any longer. Of course, it didn't help that everything had suddenly gone black and I was suddenly on the floor…

* * *

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	9. Chapter 9

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* * *

"Dude!" Gus exclaimed, laughing so hard he was almost crying. "I can't believe that you fainted! In front of Abigail, too!"

I scowled. "Whatever. At least _I _haven't run screaming like a little girl from a crime scene. And that was in front of at least three hot women."

He immediately stopped laughing. "That was one time, Shawn! One time!"

"Personally, I think that fainting in front of an ex-girlfriend is a lot more embarrassing," Lassie chimed in.

"How about fainting in front of your boss when her baby is born? Where's that on the list, Lassie?"

Detective Harrington (I was finally getting used to his name) frowned at Lassie. "You what?"

He muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "shooting" and "Spencer", but I'm pretty sure I heard wrong.

"Let's just go find Ramirez," he said. Finally, they were off the topic of my stupid fainting thing!

"Agreed. May I please see the file now?" I asked, in my trademark mock-serious tone, while holding my hand out for the file.

"Sorry, Spencer, but this is a job for _real _detectives," Lassie growled.

At the same time, Detective Harrington handed me the file. I was starting to like this guy better and better. Lassie glared at him.

I looked through it and held a hand up to my head. "I know where he is!"

Detective Harrington looked at me with awe. "Already?"

"Yep. So…" I asked. "What are we waiting for exactly?"

We all immediately started moving for a car.

When we were in the car, Detective Harrington turned to me and asked, "So, as a psychic, can you read thoughts?"

It was an interesting question to ask at that moment, but one I got often. "Sometimes. It depends."

"Okay, so say that someone gets amnesia. Could you read their minds to see everything they've forgotten?"

I filed that question away in my mind, ready to remember it at any given moment I needed to. "Again, it depends. The spirits are sometimes very giving and allow me access to those thoughts, other times they aren't. It's as simple as that."

He nodded. "Well, here we are," he said.

I looked outside. It looked like the place. "Yes, this is definitely it," I whispered loudly. "Just as I saw it!"

We walked inside the old, decrepit warehouse. We saw him almost immediately. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that this was way too easy. But at that moment, I couldn't care less. This was the bastard who sent people to kill Jules. And there was no way I would let him go.

He looked up. "What are _you _doing here?" he asked.

Lassie tackled him to the ground and handcuffed him. "Felipe Ramirez, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you."

"What the –" he started to say, but it was hard for him to talk after Detective Harrington socked him in the jaw.

* * *

"Look, if you want to know, it was a favor for an old friend, okay? He asked me to. He said he was worried that she would remember something from a long time ago and turn him in."

"Remember something?" I asked.

He sighed. "When she was chasing me the first time, she got kidnapped by my friend. He held her for awhile, gave her a few drugs. When she woke up, she didn't remember a thing. They never found him."

"And who is this friend of yours?" Lassie asked.

He stayed silent.

"Listen, Felipe," I said. "That girl? Detective Juliet O'Hara? She's a friend of mine. The difference between my friends and your friends? If you rat on your friends, you won't end up like them. And I can tell you right now that you will appreciate that in the future."

He hesitated, but his eyes widened. He was taking this threat to heart. He could probably tell that I was not bluffing. I'd become good at that over the last few years. And I honestly meant every single word I'd said.

"All right, I can't tell you his name," he said. "I promised him that much. And I never break promises. Unlike some people."

"Then what _can _you tell us?" Lassie yelled.

"He's close. Too close. He hurt her once, and he'll do anything to make sure she doesn't remember it. And you can't trust everyone who you think you can."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Something that may or may not be hard for you to believe, psychic," he said. "My friend? He's got a very important job. Helped me out of several snags in the past."

"What are you telling us?" I yelled suddenly. We were wasting time. Juliet's life was at stake, which was not okay with me.

"I'm telling you that you all could get into serious trouble with my friend," he said. "Because he's a cop for the Miami Police Department."

Oh, no.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 10

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* * *

"It figures. I am really glad that Jules got out of here!" I exclaimed. "Miami's horrible. It's all wrong for her."

"Yeah. Right. Miami is horrible, we've got that Spencer," Lassie said. "Now, are you getting anything on the department? Who was closest to the case?"

"Her partner!" I yelled. Gus shushed me. "Her partner!" I stage whispered. "Detective Harrington was also working the case! He was the one of the only people who could've made a deal with Ramirez, _and _he would've known whether or not Juliet was close to finding out about it!"

Lassie nodded. "You're right. Harrington!"

He turned. "Yes, Detective Lassiter?"

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Shoot," he said.

I grabbed Lassie's arm before he could pull out his gun and shoot him.

"Not here," I said. Harrington gave me a perplexed look.

"Follow me," Lassie insisted, a fake smile across his face.

When we got in front of the interrogation room, he got it. "Whoa, what's going on here?"

"Ramirez said that someone from the Miami Police Department that had helped him in the past had hired him to make sure Jules died," I informed him. "And no one was closer to his particular case than you, Detective."

He froze. "You really think that I would hurt Detective O'Hara?" he asked softly. "She was my partner. She wasn't the best detective I've ever met, mostly because she was so emotional." I started considering letting Lassiter shoot the guy. "But that also made her a great listener. She helped me through so many of my problems, and I could always count on her to be the one who talked to the family members as compassionately as possible. She helped me get through my divorce. I would _never _hurt Detective O'Hara. _Ever._"

"Tell us about the case you were working on," Lassie said, refusing to let it go. I, on the other hand, was considering that it could be someone else. Just considering, though.

He sighed. "Ramirez was suspected of a few assault charges. O'Hara miraculously managed to get a lead, but she didn't call for backup. Rookie mistake." Okay, he may not be the murd – attacker, but I still think Lassie should at least get a _chance _to shoot him. How dare he belittle Jules like that?! "When she went missing, the entire department went crazy looking for her. A few days later, she shows up in the hospital unconscious, and we never saw Ramirez again. When she woke up, she didn't remember a thing."

"All right," Lassie conceded, "_if _that's true, then who else was close enough to the case to get to O'Hara?"

Harrington thought for a second. "Well… at the time, Detective Johnson and O'Hara were… together. She might have mentioned it to him. If he was engaged at the time it would have given him motive." He got more excited as he said more. "And, come to think of it, he was the only one in the department who wasn't in a hurry to find O'Hara! It _has _to be him!"

"Let's go," Lassie growled. I gave Harrington one more suspicious look and then followed Lassie out.

* * *

_(Third person POV)_

It was dark.

That was the first thing she noticed. She heard an odd beeping sound, and could feel that she was in a bed. Why was she in a bed? She tried to look around, but again, it was dark. What had happened? Where was she?

_SCREECH!_

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_Pain. Lots and lots of pain. Blood everywhere, flowing freely from her chest. Oh, god, why wasn't the pain ending?_

"_Jules! Are you okay?"_

"_I think… we should've… gotten… those matching… vests… after all… Shawn." Coughing. She could taste and feel blood coming from her mouth now. Her eyes closed and everything started to fade away. Before everything around her disappeared, she heard one last thing:_

"_Jules? JULES! Wake up!"_

"Come on, detective, wake up. That's a direct order." The person was worried. Afraid, even. Familiar. Wait, wake up? What did they mean, wake up? Was she asleep or something?

Where was Shawn? She missed Shawn. His voice was still in her head, also telling her to wake up. Maybe if she did what he said, he would be sitting here with her. She inexplicably wanted to see him _so much._

She struggled to open her eyes. Slowly but surely light started creeping into her vision. She groaned.

"Detective?" the voice asked. It was hopeful. But it wasn't Shawn. Shawn would call her Jules, not Detective. Where was Shawn? A feeling a dread settled over her. Had Shawn gotten hurt, too?

The person was shaking her now. "Detective! Detective O'Hara, can you hear me? It's Chief Vick. Come on, wake up already!" the voice said softly, but with lots of authority.

"Shawn," the younger woman murmured. She finally opened her eyes all of the way. She blinked rapidly and then kept her eyes open. "Where's Shawn?"

The chief smiled. "We managed to track down the man who wanted you dead. Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, and Detective Lassiter went to Miami to arrest him."

Juliet immediately became more alert. "Miami? Why Miami?"

"Felipe Ramirez. Do you remember him?" Chief Vick asked softly. Juliet was becoming unsettled. The chief was never this gentle. She must really be in bad shape.

"Of course I do. It was my last and worst case before I came to Santa Barbara," she replied. "Wait, is he the one who shot me?"

"Not exactly. Ramirez hired someone to shoot you. The three of them are handling the case in Miami, the rest of us are handling it from here. We tried to get a hold of your family, but they are apparently on vacation. We haven't reached them yet."

"What have they found?"

"As far as I know, that's it. But they haven't called me with an update for almost 24 hours."

Juliet sighed. "I can't imagine how Shawn's doing down there."

The Chief looked confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"They aren't very receptive of psychics in Miami. They're probably ready to shoot him themselves."

She smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised. Now that I think about it, though, I should probably call them now. Mr. Spencer insisted that I call you as soon as you're awake."

She stepped out, but I could still hear what she was saying. "Hello? Yes, Mr. Spencer, Detective O'Hara did wake up. Do you have any updates on your end?" Pause. Her face was contorted with surprise. "What? Who's Detective Johnson?" _What? Why was Shawn talking about him? _"Mr. Spencer, that is a heavy accusation. You should talk to Chief Robertson about this, maybe internal affairs. And why would he want O'Hara dead?"

_Wonderful, _Juliet thought to herself. _First I get shot, then I find out that _he _might be behind it. What's next? Am I going to get struck by lightning?_

* * *

**JULES IS AWAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Reviews make me happy. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Here's the last chapter!!!!!!!!! I hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!!! R&R!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**I don't own Psych.**

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Relief. Happiness. Disappointment. Anger. I felt a mix of all of those right now. I was relieved and happy because Jules was awake. I was disappointed because I wasn't there when she did. I haven't even gotten to talk to her yet. Plus, she hadn't gotten to see a pineapple when she woke up (stupid nurses). And I was angry because someone would dare try to kill someone like her.

The strongest emotion by far was the relief. She was a fighter, for sure – but I had honestly started to doubt whether or not she would pull through.

"Hey, Lassie!" I yelled. He was moving for the door to find Johnson.

"What is it, Spencer?"

"Chief called." At that, he practically ran over. Gus, who had just rounded the corner when I said that, also ran over to me.

"What did she say? Is Juliet awake yet?" Gus asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, she woke up."

I could tell from Lassie's and Gus's face they felt pretty much the same way I did. They were glad she was awake, but there was a part of them who wanted to be there when she did. "I also told her about Johnson."

Lassie nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. She can pull a background on him, ask O'Hara a few questions."

"If she's feeling up to it, of course," Gus added.

"Yeah."

We were silent for a moment, all of us savoring the moment. Savoring the fact that Jules was awake enough to answer questions. It didn't matter to us whether or not she felt up to it – all that mattered was that it was possible for her to.

"I should probably go get Johnson now," Lassie said. He really wanted to nail whoever did this to Jules. I was right behind him, Gus at my side.

"Do you really think it was Johnson?" he asked.

"Gus, this is the same guy who dumped her a few weeks before his wedding. What do you think?"

"Good point," he said.

"Okay, so first thing when we get back to Santa Barbara, we go see Jules, get her a pineapple, and then eat jerk chicken. Deal?"

"You know that's right," Gus agreed, giving me a fist bump.

"Harrington!" Lassie said. "Good news."

"What?"

"Jules woke up," I cut in.

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "That's… great! I'll go visit her! I have several vacation days left. I would love to see how well she's doing."

"Sure, go ahead," Lassie said. Then we went to talk to Detective Johnson.

_(In the interrogation room)_

"How close were you to the Ramirez case five years ago?" he asked Johnson, who was looking kind of calm for a guy who was about to get caught for attempted murder.

"I wasn't. I didn't even know about that case until O'Hara went missing." That was another thing that bugged me. He'd been in a relationship with her, and _not only _did he hurt her, and maybe try to kill her, but he didn't even have the courtesy to call her anything less impersonal than 'O'Hara'. With Lassie and Harrington it was understandable. They were only her partners on the job – there was barely a personal relationship there (well, there kind of was with Lassie, but his personality made it impossible for him to call her Juliet). But Johnson… well, let's just say the only good thing he did was help make sure that she wouldn't end up with a jerk like him.

"So, you were in a… relationship –" he didn't like saying that any more than I did, "—with her, and she didn't tell you anything?"

"Exactly. We tried to keep our work and personal relationships separate," he explained. "The only time that went out the window was when she went missing."

"Then why did Harrington say that you weren't at all concerned with finding O'Hara when she went missing?" I blurted out. Lassie glared at me, but he didn't correct me.

Johnson, on the other hand, looked confused.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "I was more concerned than anyone else. It was Detective Harrington who thought that she could handle herself. Which is weird, because he was always the one who said she _wasn't _ready for anything."

I froze. I pulled all my memories on the case.

"_Look, if you want to know, it was a favor for an old friend, okay? He asked me to. He said he was worried that she would remember something from a long time ago and turn him in."_

"_Okay, so say that someone gets amnesia. Could you read their minds to see everything they've forgotten?"_

"_What are _you_ doing here?" Ramirez looked right at _Harrington.

"Crap, Lassie, he's right," I said. "It's Harrington. How could we have been so stupid! Never trust a guy with a last name like Harrington!"

"Isn't he on his way to see Juliet?" Gus asked.

My heart stopped. Oh, no. He was going to try to kill her.

* * *

_(Juliet's POV)_

I started to drift off to sleep when I heard my phone ring. I looked over and read the caller ID. It was Shawn. I smiled and picked up.

"Hey, Shawn!" I greeted, my voice still hoarse from disuse. "How's Miami? Is everyone treating you okay?"

"Jules!" Why did he sound so panicked? "Do you have your gun?"

The question immediately made me become alert. I looked around and saw it next to me. "Yeah, why?"

"Good. Hide it under your covers so he doesn't see you have it, but keep it within reach. Just in case," he directed.

"Shawn, what's going on? Who are you talking about?" I asked. What the hell?

"Jules, it's Harrington. He's the one who's trying to kill you. He's the one who kidnapped you during the Ramirez case that you didn't remember. He was worried I'd somehow be able to bring the memories back, so he tried to make sure you're dead," he explained, very quickly I might add.

"Wait, then why can't you just arrest him?"

"Because he got on a plane to Santa Barbara before we figured out it was him. And it landed… about an hour ago." Oh. That didn't sound good. "We still haven't reached the Chief, so she won't be there to stop him. You have to do it on your own."

Just then, Harrington walked in the door. He smiled at me. Thank god my gun was already under the covers. "O'Hara! How good to see you!" Then he saw my phone. He frowned. "Who are you talking to?"

"Shawn, I have to go," I said. Harrington froze, and then glared at me. I didn't take my eyes off of him for a second.

"Jules, wait –" I hung up. Harrington smiled, but this time it was malicious. Threatening.

And – although I would never admit it – it scared the hell out of me.

"So. I'm guessing your psychic figured out it was me, huh?"

I nodded. My hand closed around my gun. I still didn't take my eyes off of him. He pulled out something. A syringe. "See this?" he asked. "It's poison. As soon as I put it in your IV, you'll be screaming in agony. And this time, there's no way you'll pull through. And I guess I'll have to save some for Shawn, too." Go ahead and try, jack ass. See if you can poison me before I put a bullet in your head.

He lunged for me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Chief running towards us, but she was too far away. I pulled up my arm.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! _Three shots. It had been three shots that had put me here.

But this time, they went through Harrington. Every single one, all of them a fatal shot. He looked at me. "Looks like… you finally… became… a good… detective… O'Hara," he wheezed.

And then he died.

* * *

When I woke up, I saw a familiar yellow fruit next to my bed. There were also two teddy bears holding hands. They both had a post-it note on their stomach – one said Shawn and the other said Jules. They were both wearing bullet-proof vests. I picked up the card next to them.

_I TOLD you we needed matching vests! Maybe next time Chief will listen._

_H's & K's,_

_Shawn._

I smiled. "I see you like them."

I turned and saw Shawn sitting on the other side of the bed. I smiled at him. "Took you long enough to visit me, Shawn."

He grinned. "What can I say? The airport took forever. They were an entire thirty minutes early."

"Should've been an hour," I added. "That would have been more acceptable."

"So, how was Miami?"

He grinned. "What do you want to hear? About how Lassie punched out Johnson?"

And I listened the entire time Shawn told his story. And I thought that, even though I wouldn't be able to work for another few weeks, I think Shawn could make it worth it.

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**YAY!!!!!!!! Happy ending!!!!!!!!!!! :)**


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